


Candid

by avalonroses



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Established Relationship, Idiots in Love, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-31
Updated: 2016-07-31
Packaged: 2018-07-28 10:29:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7636675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avalonroses/pseuds/avalonroses
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They're in a relationship now. England shouldn't feel guilty about looking through America's phone, but he's rather surprised at what he finds.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Candid

America’s young— _much_ younger than England, and it’s evident.

The lad’s perpetually effervescent with energy, sparkling and bursting with boundless spirit and enthusiasm, quite unlike England who prefers life to turn over at a much slower pace nowadays, quiet and undisturbed as still water, since conquering and ruling and losing reign over a large portion of the world will do that to a person.

He can scarcely keep up with America.

England’s already experienced his eventful rise to power, the prime of his life has eclipsed, and he seriously doubts he’ll ever be able to obtain the same hunger for supremacy as he once had, he’s _mostly_ content with the gentler outlook he’s acquired since his youth.

America, however… he’s strong-willed and boisterous and strong.

The island nation had never thought, for one moment, that his idiotic schoolboy fancy, that he was, frankly, far too old for, on the boy would ever amount to them becoming an _item._ Even if England has been stupidly in love with America since that breathless closeness they’d shared after the end of  World War II, after they’d gripped on to each with such fierceness that it seemed as though they’d been the only two people in the world.

England never imagined that he’d find himself in a relationship with his ex-colony.

The relationship itself is very new, considering how long England had been harbouring his affection for the other nation—and America had confessed to feeling similarly for as long as England—but it had taken them a shameful span of time for both of them to overcome the security of their familiar, weary routine of _arguing_ and snapping and criticising one another.

It’s ridiculous how long it’d taken them to realise they’d both been concealing emotion for one another that was quite the opposite of the barbed words and poisoned threats that poured thoughtlessly from their mouths, though not at all unbelievable.

They’re both stubborn, after all. And blind, according to France.

America’s youth, for the most part, pleasantly balances England’s ‘old man’ slowness, but there are times when England can’t help but grow concerned that it perhaps drives a wedge between them. Separates them with their different interests and values and what they take pleasure in.

England would rather not question whether America’s love for him runs as deeply as how England feels for his ex-colony, because the profundity of England’s regard for America disarms him sometimes. And he would _loathe_ to appear clingy, but the thought of losing America, for the love to become unrequited, hurts him more than any wound sustained in battle.

But… America has his life spiralling out ahead of him and what is England to him but a nag, at least, that’s what America calls him when he pouts and tells England he’s not gamed with Japan for months now and would rather spend what little, precious time they have together before they have to return to their respective countries shooting down digital zombies than with England.

Which is fine, and England had told America so—well, maybe he’d snapped and then America had guiltily skulked out of the meeting room, throwing an exasperated frown back at England before disappearing out the room.

England’s probably being unreasonable but he’s…

_Upset._

America’s his boyfriend. Though nations’ life spans are a great deal longer than their citizens, which means they do have more time together, but they have few opportunities to see each other since their jobs _are_ their lives.

Is it so wrong that he wishes to spend as much time as possible with America while they have the chance? Or is he supposed to give the nation space and not feel snubbed, unwanted, _hurt_ that America chose to frolic off with Japan instead of seeing England?

Once America’s gone, the meeting room is vacant save for England and the silence is only broken by the whirring of computers.

England scowls at a particularly unfortunate spot on the table he’s sat before, he hasn’t moved since America had pressed a kiss to his temple and informed him the only person he has plans with is Japan.

Fine. _Fine._

That’s what young people, including nations, want to do these days—play video games with their friends, though Japan certainly isn’t young but he’s a bad influence on America.

He wheezes out a sigh, breaking him out of the trance of deeply etched worry and feeling sorry for himself, but he is— _scared._

England curses under his breath at how _silly_ he’s behaving, and he hates that he’s been reduced to this—pining after America as though he has nothing better to do while the other nation runs off and has a jolly good time elsewhere.

It won’t do, it simply won’t do, and England huffs as he snatches up his briefcase and stands, aching with annoyance for America but, more pressingly, furious at himself for knowing he’ll go back to their shared hotel room, woefully _alone,_ and miss America.

When did he become so pathetic?

He’s about to leave in a storm of wrath when something glints and catches his eye. It’s America’s phone, England realises, which the nation has left in his rush to delve into not-yet-released games, and the careless idiot probably won’t even notice until he’s moseying his way back to their hotel room, hours from now.

England retrieves the phone from the table, the corners of his mouth pulled down with irritation, until he activates the screen when he touches it and finds that it hasn’t locked itself yet.

He knows America’s password, America knows his. They don’t hide things from each other, and America is hardly a private individual anyway, England would be permitted to use America’s phone if he simply asked, but he’s never really had to.

Now, having it in his hand and unlocked, with no America in sight, a drop of guilt trickles into his gut because he feels as though, being sorely tempted to sift through the contents of the phone, that he’s snooping. He has no reason to, he trusts America, but America is _always_ using his phone, much more than England who has only recently figured out the logistics of texting, but America uses apps, and has recently become obsessed with a particular game when he walks about and captures bizarre looking creatures.

England doesn’t understand it, and his expression sours.

He opens up the tabs before he dwells too much on what he’s doing and talks himself out of it. He’s doing this innocently; after all, merely out of curiosity since he’s never seen what America keeps on his phone and they’re lovers now, it’s not wrong of him to want to know.

…right?

Flicking through texts isn’t interesting, since it’s mostly him or Canada or Japan or members of America’s government, and England also finds that most of the other tabs in use are work related, save for the game with the strange animals, and he finds himself scrolling through America’s picture album.

Which _does_ reveal itself to be interesting.

Alongside the images of America posing, thumbs up and bright, charming grin, with various people including his president, England’s prime minister and _queen,_ and pictures of landscapes and places he’s visited—including some army bases that England’s positive America isn’t allowed to have on his phone—there are photographs of England littered throughout the album.

Photographs England hadn’t known America had been taking at the time.

There’s one of the profile of his face, serene and sleepy, pouring himself his morning brew, still in his pyjamas and hair splayed out wildly in all directions. England feels a flush of delicate warmth spread over him, and it’s partially out of embarrassment and partially from… something else entirely.

America’s been taking pictures of him, for a long time now, so it seems—England finds some of these images predate the beginning of their relationship—without England’s knowledge and keeping them… heaven knows for what reason.

Some of these photographs are rather personal; too, England notes with a hot blush turning his cheeks ruddy as he opens a picture of himself sprawled out in America’s bed, asleep and barely decent with the arrangement of the blankets, after a… _vigorous_ night together. England recalls it with a burst of soft fondness.

He’s observing another one of him with his nose almost pressed into a book, laughing at the contents, when he’s caught.

“England?”

The older nation startles so much so that America’s phone flies out of his palm and clatters at the other side of the room, probably broken, if the resonating crash is anything to go by. His heart is thundering in his chest as he turns to America, standing in the doorway, struggling to summon his trademark expression of disapproval as America steps into the room.

“I was— well, you left it here, I was about to return it to you—” England cuts himself, a burning wave of shame lighting a path through his rational mind and forcing him to stumble over his words.

America tips his head, watching England with an unnervingly unreadable expression before he moves to collect his phone and observes the cracked screen. England is speared with a stab of guilt and he has to fight from allowing it to show on his features.

“You know you’re really bad at hiding your guilty face, right?” America asks, his voice light and amused. Which confuses England, to say the least.

He’s quite certain America should be angered by this turn of events. England has, after all, snooped about in his phone and then _launched_ it across the room, rendering it unusable.

England bristles at America’s question, however, and he’s about to make a barbed retort that will, no doubt, cause an argument, but America beats him to it.

“It’s okay if you wanna look through my phone, you know,” he says, calm. “I meant it when I said I want to share everything with you.”

“Yes, apparently just not your time.” He shouldn’t have said it, he wants to take it back, he sees the flash of hurt in America’s eyes, but it’s too late for that now.

“I realised I left my phone because I was going to call you to see if you wanted to get dinner,” the younger nation explains, with the same uncharacteristic composure as before. “I cancelled with Japan. I got a little carried away when he was telling me about the game, but I can play it anytime. Right now, I’d rather spend time with you.”

England feels himself visibly wilt, the frown falling from his face, disarmed by the honesty of America’s words, and it’s almost unnerving how easily America has such a sway over England’s mood, how he can leave the nation feeling vulnerable and dangerously contented.

He’s almost smiling when he replies with:

“I think I might have time in my busy schedule to fit you in.”

England eyes America’s broken phone with no small amount of remorse.

“I suppose I’ll have to make an appointment to buy you a new phone, too.”

America grins, beaming and wide.

“Nah, that’s okay—it’s my work phone,” he explains. “I’ll tell them it was damaged in some freak accident and they’ll get me a new one. No questions asked.”

It takes a moment before England registers what America’s said, but once he realises, his scowl returns with a vengeance.

“ _America,”_ he hisses out. “Why is there a picture of me _nearly naked_ on your bloody work phone?”

The nation successfully evades answering the question when he dashes towards England and whirls him into a kiss that shuts England up nicely.

**Author's Note:**

> For the USUK Summer Festival 2016!


End file.
